The small bachelor

by P. G. Wodehouse

"Intimately."

"Fine! Well, good-bye."

Hamilton Beamish stood for a few moments in deep thought: then, turning away from the instrument, was astonished to perceive Officer Garroway.

"I'd forgotten all about you," he said. "Let me see, what did you say you had come for?"

"To read you my poem, sir."

"Ah, yes, of course."

The policeman coughed modestly.

"It is just a little thing, Mr. Beamish—a sort of study, you might say, of the streets of New York as they appear to a policeman on his beat. I would like to read it to you, if you will permit me."

Officer Garroway shifted his Adam's apple up and down once or twice: and, closing his eyes, began to recite in the special voice which he as a rule reserved for giving evidence before magistrates.

"Streets!"